God’s Fifth Parallel
by groet-havregrynsson
Summary: A collection of oneshots, almost all with Iceland.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

Papeleo

_Written January Twenty-Ninth, 2009  
_

It is May.

There's something, that could be houses. Fields. The people are too small to be seen from here, [where the world is an illusion,] where the snow is cotton-soft. Maybe they don't exist, after all - maybe, that is his fault. He shivers despite the heating, wraps his scarf tighter around his neck, adjusting and readjusting. Fingers pale, calloused, hard to bend.

"Iceland." He says. "Iceland, are you cold?"

The man is looking away from him, at the ground underneath their plane. It is afternoon, or morning, and there is the humming of machinery as the aircraft stays in motion. Emptied plastic wrappers tucked into the pockets of seats. Precautionary magazines, with glossy images. [The two of them might as well be alone.]

For Russia the earth is meaningless, at this point. And for Iceland they are miles and miles away, and the clouds are milk-white blurs against his view, and:

"In my country," A pause. A moment of thought. There is no need to rush his words, after all, and he is feeling almost comfortable. The book resting in his lap speaks of Alice Liddell, but the pages are bent and the translation is mediocre: just something to pass the time. His feet stretch against the suitcase underneath the seat in front of him. "the weather is mild." Falls quiet, returns to the window -_ this is the first time he has flown. He doesn't look concerned, merely bored _- And, perhaps, unexpectedly, Ivan slips their hands together. Feels his comrade stiffen under the touch, the temperature, and he knows better than to lean close, now.

He has nowhere to go.

"Only twenty percent of your land is habitable." Iceland doesn't understand what he is saying, and tells him so, and Russia laughs. It doesn't matter. [_He would like it, if they were to become one, because_] this man is neutral. The ribbon at his collar is messily tied, one end longer than the other. As if he doesn't care. Iceland shuffles closer to the window, rests his forehead against the glass, but doesn't pull himself away. He can't.

"We are alike." A lie, perhaps. Can't they be friends? Aren't they, friends? Russia kisses him, awkward and out-of-place, as if he is unused to people, and to warmth. Just once.

Hands withdraw, and he glimpses [blues and greens and muggy purples, electrocardiographic] on the inside of his wrists. Iceland seems uncomfortable, confused, looks at him, brings the tips of his fingers together at his chest.

Russia's giggle is vitriolic, and he shivers in the cold, and he leans against the armrest; There is four hours left of travel, and Mashen'ka lays unopened by his side.

xxxxxxxx

Written for a kink meme, and _fukkafyla_. Original prompt was:

_Something sweet with Russia/Iceland or Norway/Iceland _

"Mashen'ka" is Vladimir Nabokov's "Mary"._  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Written June Twenty-sixth, 2009.__  
_

"What is it like... to watch your child grow older before your very eyes?"

Iceland's cigarette is burning between the edges of his fingers. England leans against the railing of the hotel, shirt rumpled at the corners. Unable to sleep away from home. The legs of his trousers are slightly too long, turned up at the ankles, and he's barefoot on the concrete of the porch.

He offered to hem them earlier, but England had simply looked at him. _You're not my wife._ Iceland made a face and gave him salted licorice, handfuls and handfuls of it, so when he wandered off he could make a trail [and find his way back].

"Half of me," he sighs and breathes in the summer air, staring off into rooftops and trees and vague, vague memories, "wants him - _them_ - back as children, cute little things that never disobey. But the other half... is so proud to see them as they are now, older and..." He trails off but Iceland understands, thinks he understands. Wants to understand.

The wind changes positions and they shuffle, so the smoke doesn't blow in England's face.

"Do you have children?" England asks, resting his eyes. _Just resting._

"I... have one. He - " Pauses, looks away. Hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. It never stops hurting, does it? Never, never... "He died young."

England stays silent.

[He's just resting.]

**xxxxxxxx**

Once, Greenland's entire Norse population was wiped out. Greenland wasn't self-sustainable and relied on trading ships, so when its trade was restricted - coupled with harsh weather conditions, etc. - things just naturally went downhill. Iceland had helped colonize Greenland, and according to some sources an Icelandic ship was (illegally) the last ship to visit Greenland before this happened. In my headcanon, when a country's entire population dies then the country itself dies, so this would be like Iceland's two-year-old child dying on him. The current Greenland in my headcanon is like... a different child with the same name.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Written September Twenty-first, 2009.__  
_

Once, Iceland told Norway that he loved him. They were in the kitchen, Norway waiting for his coffee to be ready - Iceland pretending to read the newspaper. Trying not to cry.

Norway was silent for a long, long time. He leaned against the counter and sighed quietly to himself, slipped his fingers into the handle of his cup.

"I know."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Posted November Eleventh, 2009.__  
_

Iceland stands there, motionless, clutching the ribbon. England is already walking down the hallway, hands in his pockets with a strained, weary smile.

"Arthur," Iceland says, and clears his throat. "You forgot this."

The sound echoes around the hallway. Iceland keeps one foot in the room behind him, holding the door open. England pauses and adjusts his collar, smooths down his tie.

"No, I didn't."

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Concept notes - The occupation of Iceland during WWII helped Iceland out a lot from its former state. Currently Icelanders learn British English in school. Iceland's clothing looks far too similar to England's to be coincidence.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Posted November Eleventh, 2009.__  
_

The morning after, Denmark cried.

[His bed was empty.]


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Written December Twenty-seventh, 2009.__  
_

When Iceland returns he's weighed down with snow, breath laboured. Too slow to keep up with Norway's long strides. After closing the door he fumbles with his mittens and sets them out to dry, bending his fingers slowly to ease in the warmth. The wool is wearing thin, a gift from years and years ago, but –

"You had something to ask, Iceland?" Norway watches him from the table, idly flipping through a story that Iceland had left to the side. He's frowning, unable to read some of the words, and marks corrections in the margins of the paper. Easily making himself at home.

Iceland pretends to be busy by brushing off his clothes, sweeping the snow to the edge of the door, organizing the pile of winter clothing at his feet. He mumbles something and Norway pauses, unable to hear, but Iceland doesn't meet his eyes. He's unsure of this, but he always seems unsure these days, and it's rare that the two of them have time alone. The words won't come out.

"I don't know how to..." He tries to continue, nervous, attempting to keep his expression blank. Iceland stares at the ground and unhooks the buttons on his clothing, then closes them up again. He's too old to be asking for help, but if it's from Norway, he can bear it. "This is my first…"

In the end, Norway accepts.

xxx

Norway slips away. He's busy, always busy, and when Iceland asks to see him the reply is almost curt. Iceland saves what he can spare and fashions toys, makes clothing, tucks them away in a special corner just for them, because _nothing can be wrong_. He waits for a time when he can share his thoughts, while the amount of gifts slowly grows.

Sometimes, Iceland passes by when on other errands - a lie, for what errands could he possibly run in Scandinavia - and checks to see if Norway is home. He isn't. He leaves the toys at the doorstep, bundled with shirts and a note. Holds in his tears. Each time he returns it takes longer to warm up, the chill seeping into his chest and burrowing into his fingers, and each time his cough grows worse.

xxx

The next time Iceland tries to visit he's called back, the sense of _Denmark_ affecting even the air he breathes, suffocating and foreign and unwanted. It leaves him enervated, and the distance to Norway's house seems longer and colder than before, and he is busy. Far too busy. He's unable to wander on his own.

Sometimes he glimpses Sweden, his coattails disappearing around corners and his shadow melting into the walls. They never speak but the blue of his uniform sinks into his dreams, turning into water and flowers and bright, cloudless skies.

Iceland lays in bed, unable to settle his own affairs, and ventures only as far as the doorstep of his house. Norway's whispers bend through the streets and drift into his room, haunting, keeping him awake. Lingering for hours and days and long after the man has left.

xxx

The news is brief. He folds and unfolds the letter, hoping something will have changed, and aside from this there is little contact from Norway. The only personal message is one that wishes him well, but the handwriting is unfamiliar, and he can barely make out the words.

_Denmark met him._

Iceland has read the page enough times for the creases to tear. He coughs, shivering into the frame of his bed, and closes his eyes.

xxx

Greenland is dead. Norway stands there, treating it as if it's just one more thing they'll have to leave behind them, even as his hands fist into his shirt and he voices his regret. His speech has an even, practiced tone, and Iceland wonders how many hours he has thought this over, how many days he –

Iceland rubs away tears with the arm of his sleeve and turns away, face contorting. It's too late. When he excuses himself Norway looks at him strangely, as if he can't quite understand, and says nothing as he leaves.

Denmark ghosts - constantly, overwhelmingly present - and wraps around his chest. Constricts. Iceland stumbles towards home, fingers shaking from the cold, and arrives to find that someone has visited while he was away. The package sits on the edge of his table, untouched by the snowfall. Opening it finds a handful of toys wrapped in paper, letters with smeared ink, illegible and uninteresting.

His head swims and he collapses onto the bed, ignoring the imprint of someone on the blankets. His eyes blur. The cold won't leave him, and his breaths are shallow and quick, and for the first time he realizes there is nothing he can do.

This is how it begins.

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Notes:

Erik the Red went to Greenland, settlements were made, eventually they started paying taxes and stuff to Norway. Due to a variety of reasons after a few hundred years the entire Norse population (aka these settlements) were wiped out. This happened right around the time the Kalmar Union was formed. Later on Denmark recolonized Greenland. Something at one point suggested that one of the last ships to visit Greenland before the settlements died out was an Icelandic one.

Timeline in the fic ranges from around 980 to the 1400's. Headcanon says Greenland was a baby and died when the Norse population was wiped out. I realize that there were some people living on Greenland even after the Norse no longer were, however. The last line refers to start of the Kalmar Union, of his dislike for Denmark, and when things just generally start to go to hell for Iceland.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Posted November Eleventh, 2009._

"I don't want you," Iceland mumbles into the crook of his arm, underneath the covers. Denmark is waiting at the edge of the bed, still smiling.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Posted Tenth of June, 2009._

Returning home from a tempestuous round of evening drinks in the company of heteroclite colleagues saw England grasping at the door to his freezer, peckish and unwilling to settle for anything less than the ritualistic basket of fish and chips. His gaunt face, worn thin from the hours of unusually strenuous exercise that conversing gave him, was reflected in the handle of the appliance. He trembled at the sight of it - was this what had become of him, had his vigour left him an old, weakened man unable even to muster up the strength to fashion supper?

Prying open they only barrier between him and sustenance brought nothing but despair and he closed, reopened the door as if that would change what he had seen. _There was no fish._ Instead, a distastefully-placed lamb's head stared back at him from the otherwise barren shelf inside his freezer. It looked suspiciously fresh, and he caught himself glancing about for bloodstains on the flooring before slamming the door shut with finality.

_This was the third time._ He rifled for his mackintosh in the hall closet and attempted to lace his shoes, then gave up. _I'll never ask for help in knitting again,_ England thought furiously, before putting on his hat to stumble drunkenly out the front door.

He was going to Iceland.

xxx

Gauchely recovering from the ticket most unfortunately obtained in the wake of using the fastest way possible to meet with the culprit, England strode purposefully towards the covert help desk of the mercantile store. The indignation he felt at the possibility of substituting his requisite, culture-defining meal with something _else_ was enough to make his fist slam onto the glossy countertop.

"Iceland," He paused dramatically, simultaneously wincing in pain. In addition to his strikingly handsome finger bones and the merciless attack just placed upon the employee's working space, the thirty-second walk from the car to the desk had nearly toppled him with exhaustion. However, he wasn't about to reveal such a thing to someone who had not even procured a single territory. "Where is the fish?"

The addressee was chewing dreadful-smelling liquorice that flawlessly mirrored the colour of his heart, a black as deep as breakfast time in January. At England's words he looked up from a second-hand copy of _Banking and Management_ and cursed loudly to himself, briskly unpinning his nametag and placing it facedown near the desolate cash register. England had been the first person in weeks to use the help centre and Iceland had been suspecting a pink slip for years now anyway - so disregarding the consequences, he stepped into the aisle towards the unkempt drunk.

A shadow passed over Iceland's face as he leaned forward, overtly coughing onto England's coat, and mumbled _let's take this outside._

xxx

Amidst the torrent of rain the two men strode into the car park. Thrums of water pooled into the wrinkles at the cuffs of England's trousers while Iceland's jumper instantly began to smell like sheep.

In the always-prepared manner of an Englishman he withdrew an umbrella from a hidden pocket inside his mackintosh and threw it at Iceland's kneecaps. It hit, however Iceland's reaction of pain was suspiciously delayed. This was, perhaps, associated with the following event of his entire day's change skittering onto the ground through a badly mended fissure in the lining of his pocket. As Iceland stood by, quickly recovering with an air of indifference, England scrambled for the coins.

"This is only partial payment!" England warned triumphantly, steadfastly ignoring a lingering sense of shame, and pulled out his mobile to message Netherlands with the good news of his revenge.

It promptly broke from water intake.

As England despaired over the idea of having to manually add in his contact list to a replacement phone, Iceland was busy strolling near England's shoulder at a dangerously fast rate, hands in his pockets, aiming for his BMW at the other end of the car park. Then, just England he was considering the thought of legal action and had pressed the power button for the fifth time, an unthinkably horrendous act happened – Iceland bumped into him.

**Notes:**

In 1958, 1972, and 1975 were the start of the three "Cod Wars". In short, Iceland said more fishing territory was necessary because Icelanders only eat two things, fish and fermented fish, and if this wish wasn't granted they would over fish the waters which was something they were no doubt doing anyway. England threw a fit but lost all three wars.

"Iceland", a frozen food store chain in the UK, was founded in 1970.

In 2008 England, the Netherlands, Germany, and Austria placed money into Icelandic banks that eventually proved they have no common sense, as the banks collapsed due to the usual illegal reasons and took both the Icelandic economy and said invested money with it. England demanded the money back from Iceland and Iceland responded by flipping him off and walking out of the room.

Also in 2008 there was an article by some guy in The Vanity Fair where he basically tried to describe the collapse of Iceland's economy but succeeded in only showing his terrible bias towards Icelanders (because they had bumped into him too many times and he couldn't understand when something was a joke). It's a joke that the national sport of Iceland is bumping into people, it's also a joke that in the height of the economic bubble before the collapse every Icelander owned a BMW, or possibly three.

In the winter Iceland's sunlight is slim to none, hence the darkness reference. He's eating salmiac liquorice which is black and kind of salty and usually everyone outside the Nordic countries and Germany hate it. Fish and chips (french fries) are an iconic food of England while boiled, singed lamb's head is Iceland's.

There's also a semi-joke where Icelanders always know exactly where they're going (and possibly what they're doing...) hence a lack of helpful road signs, maps, directions, et cetera in Iceland. A "pink slip", at least where I live, is the name for a slip given to you when you're fired. Icelandic sweaters/jumpers are famous for their awesomeness and once they get wet they smell brand new again, which is to say, they smell like sheep.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Posted Twenty-First of June, 2009.  
Accompanying art is linked in my profile._

Iceland cradled the phone next to his ear, unplugging the espresso machine with his other hand. He was calling Sweden, or Finland, whoever picked up first, because he hadn't decided what to talk about - that could come later, once he'd had another drink. They owed him a favour, or perhaps it was the other way around.

There was nothing to eat, so he leaned against the countertop and drew pictures with the tips of his fingers pressing against the varnish. He had tried it all before, every brand and flavour, but the only thing that had changed was the price. Once he had considered growing something of his own or trying foreign tastes, but just as quickly dismissed the thought. He had an image to uphold.

At Sweden's voice Iceland began to mumble about the weather, his co-workers and this and that, pausing in between themes to refill his glass. It took him several minutes to realise he had reached the answering machine.

xxx

When Finland visits in the mornings he brings his own newspaper, idly reading aloud while Iceland sifts through his cupboards for the coffee reserved especially for him. The early hours never disturb him - in fact, Iceland hasn't slept at all - and he wades through the clutter on his kitchen table for a place to set Finland's mug.

Books nudge against his sleeves and crowd around his chair. When Iceland stretches they shudder against his legs and tumble from piles to the walkway on the floor, a comforting disarray settling in the wake. He can't comprehend the old tongue, his eyes blurring and his mind wandering, and so the words are filled with the nuances of modern days.

He's been reading lately, something long and drawn out and reminiscent of life.

xxx

Denmark left, plastic bags crinkling and shoes dragging along the ground, and Iceland leaned against the railing of the porch. It was tourist season - the chatter of the passers-by nulling his senses - and he watched the crowd from the safety of his stairway.

He couldn't recognise a single face.

xxx

Due to Norway's presence the heater is off.

_Save money_ he says, but Iceland is young and inexperienced and ill at ease unless he has paid for their meals, trinkets, entertainment. Norway is unable to do this himself, aimlessly waiting until some far-off day while his house is barren, his wardrobe sparse. Iceland would rather spend things while he can, the memories of poverty still lingering.

As they knit Iceland silently compares the colours and patterns, the feel of the wool, Norway's deep breathing against his own shaking gasps. Pretending to yawn, he covers his mouth with his hand and checks for warmth. Tries on a scarf, as if to check for length.

Norway leans back on the couch, sets his work to the side, and feigns sleep. Once Iceland notices he stumbles gleefully to his feet and turns the heater on, sliding next to Norway to steal his warmth.

**NOTES:**

Iceland does have a really nice, state-of-the-art telephone except he can't afford the payments so he doesn't use it. He also has three BMW's but he can't afford the gas so he rides the bus.

Finns have odd coffee today due to getting used to rationed versions in WWII. Or so says my Finnish friend.

Norway is known for never spending money even when he has to. In contrast Iceland is known for spending it on frivolous things and pretending he has money when he really doesn't.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Posted the Fifth of July, 2010.  
_

Denmark stirs something too violently, spilling flour onto his apron and the countertop. He's singing something merry but Iceland prefers a sadder tune, of seagulls and time passing by.

_He won't clean it up._ Later Iceland will have to wipe the mess off, damp rag in one hand, in a late hour when he'll be tempted to leave it for the next day. _Denmark will take the leftovers home as well,_ he thinks. The two of them are incompatible, and Iceland's going to keep it that way.

"What are you making?" Iceland asks, fingering the rings on the table from Denmark's glass. He doesn't get an answer, only a wink that he misses because his gaze is still focused on the wood. He wonders why Denmark drinks so much, why they all drink so much, and why he isn't drinking now – _because there's nothing in the fridge._

"I feel like traditional food. But not _your_ traditional food," He mutters, but quietly so Denmark won't hear. Norway hasn't arrived yet, because Iceland never asked him to, but he half-hopes his friend will show up anyway. Denmark's humming and idle chatter, his jokes to himself as he sets the timer on the oven, are making Iceland lonelier and lonelier with each passing second.


	11. Paperclips

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Posted the Fifth of July, 2010.  
Fanart for this is linked on my profile._

Iceland is passing a love note to Norway. Or maybe it's the opposite. Either way, it says "I have coffee at my house".

xxx

Denmark makes paper boat hats and sticks them on England's head when England is napping in a lawn chair. He puts an Icelandic flag in the hat and watches for England's reaction when he wakes up.

xxx

Denmark wrote Norway a letter. "I knew, from the very first time that I threw up through my nose, that I loved you."

Norway replied, "No, that was the poison I slipped into your drink."

Iceland mumbled, "That wasn't poison he drank, that was loneliness."

xxx

Sweden, Norway, and Denmark are all sitting around drinking Coke. Denmark dips potato chips into his and then eats them, while Sweden makes a face.

"D'sgustin'," he says, and goes to drink his own, but Norway's words freeze him in his place.

"Accept differences."

xxx

Iceland writes letters to Denmark but he always mispells "Danes" as "dames".

xxx

During the economic bubble Norway tests Iceland's loyalty.

"Save your money," he says. Iceland can't do it and falls into despair because he doesn't want Norway to hate him, thus triggering the collapse.

xxx

Iceland is lonely so he calls Norway. They chitchat for a while, then Norway says "Hold on a minute." Iceland waits. Norway returns. They talk a few minutes more, then this happens again. And a few more times.

"Am I bothering you?" Iceland asks. Norway says no.

"What are you doing?" Iceland asks.

"Denmark," Norway replies.

xxx

Someone pulled a prank on England and shaved off his eyebrows. They grew back in patches.

xxx

Norway and Iceland go into the wood and hunt sheep for brotherly bonding.

xxx

Iceland's smug that certain countries have stopped bothering him about an issue. What he doesn't know is that Denmark has been threatening them in secret - _"Iceland's my property"._

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Note: These aren't really stories, just things I type up on occasion. The "loneliness" is part of a Chinese meme. Swedes are known for wanting to conform and Norwegians are known for being proud of individuality. Norway is known for sitting on a bunch of money and never spending it while Iceland is known for... spending it. Denmark has a hard time letting go of the past sometimes._  
_


	12. Paperclips Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Written the last week of May, 2010.  
_

Sweden wakes to Hanatamago scratching at his bedroom door. He makes breakfast, sets out table scraps in a dish on the carpeting, but it won't leave the ghost of Finland residing in his bed.

xxx

He sleeps on the couch because he doesn't want to make his bed every day, because he's so exhausted from work it doesn't matter, because even though he could never sleep when Finland was around it's become worse.

xxx

When Denmark invades he burrows himself into the blankets and slings an arm around Sweden's shoulder, declaring this a symbol of their friendship. Sweden hasn't roused from bed as quickly in weeks.

xxx

Norway visits in the afternoons and Iceland in the evenings, when he's certain the other man has left. Norway sips his drinks and says "... ... ...," but Iceland is already half-drunk when he arrives to tell Sweden exactly what is wrong with everyone else.

xxxxxxxx

Norway's speech is supposed to be completely blank but this site won't allow it. Set in some imaginary time when Finland's been away for a few months. More later._  
_


	13. Under a Thousand Starry Nights

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Written the 31st of June, 2010.  
_

The Norwegian placed a finger upon the Finn's dry, pale, cracking lips. He knew nothing of plasters, of herbal remedies or splints. Disgraced, the sailor-suited man fluttered his eyelids gracefully shut and breathed a spell:

_Tinkle, tinkle, hoy._

Instantly a nisse appeared, rosy-cheeked and grinning in the light of the midnight sun. At that moment so did Iceland, carrying the head of a four-horned sheep on his back as if a trophy, glistening with sweat and blood. The pale-ash-blond purposefully bumped into the other Nordics before digging in his trouser pockets for his mobile. The sauna-lover winced and cursed heavily, wishing he had that hand-crafted flask a certain gay Nation had created for him hours earlier.

"Where's the potato-mouthed drama queen?" The islander asked, pressing the rubber buttons to start a new SMS. _Beep, beep, beep._

"Late." The Scandinavian grunted as he motioned for the apparition to heal his bilingual friend's wounds. It refused. Just as their barretted elder was rolling up his sleeves to rain fresh bruises upon the fairy (it was in as nearly a life-threatening condition as its patient), the younger brother's cell phone emitted an ear-piercing, cascading, unmelodious shriek of notes. His eyes flickered over the text and the puffin-eater quickly slammed the call button to respond, drawing in breath to yell his greetings to the drunkard.

"JEG TALER IKKE DANSK!"

And the salmiakki-fiend finally fainted, falling forcefully from a fierce hangover.

SLUT

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Translations:  
Jeg taler ikke dansk - I don't speak Danish (in Danish)  
Slut - The end (in Danish)

If you couldn't guess, this is "how not to do it".


	14. Paperclips Three

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia.

_Posted the tenth of August, 2010.  
_

Iceland's the one who films when they go out to drink. Denmark is the star.

xxx

Denmark's home movies are jumpy and too drawn-out. Half the time he wanders out of screen and Norway pushes him "gently" back into view, holding the camera with his other hand. Finland waits in the dining room, hoping for a chance to grace the credits.

xxx

Denmark drinks from puddles. Sweden drinks from pots at the end of rainbows. Norway drinks from rainwater collected in cups, while Iceland uses what's left over to make coffee. Finland just drinks vodka.

xxx

The more Iceland drinks the more his English muddles. Sweden frowns and ceases to speak, because understanding was hard enough when he arrived.

xxx

Norway tallies his expenses, his sick days and frivolities. He circles where the price could be brought down, taping the notecards to his fridge and cupboards. Iceland still ignores them.


End file.
